Page 20 of Downpour

The lights were off, but sunshine streamed in from the window by the door. Ray was in the recliner today, with the TV on but muted.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed.

I swallowed my pride and closed the door behind me. “I’m here to work.”

“I told you not to come back.”

“I know.”

He cocked a brow. “And yet you’re standing in my house.”

“I really need this job,” I croaked out.

Ray remained silent.

“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe we just need to sit down and talk and get to know each other so I know what you want from me.”

Still nothing.

“I can’t get fired,” I admitted. “If I lose another client, they won’t give me anymore. And I’m already behind on my bills as it is, and I just…” I squared my shoulders. “I swear I’ll try harder.”

He studied me from a distance, jaw flexing as he worked my plea over in his mind. “You can start by being on time for once.”

I nodded as I hurried in and dropped my bags on the floor. “I’ll try. I usually have a stop before you and sometimes it’s hard to get away, and I?—”

“Stop talking,” he clipped.

I froze on the spot. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Mr. Griffith?”

He closed his eyes and huffed. “Ray’s fine.”

“Your nieces were here.”

“I know,” he snapped.

“Do you… want me to go find them and let them in?”

“No.”

“Okay…” I sighed.Work with me here, man.

Ray flicked his eyes to the deck. “Let’s go sit out there.”

I hurried to help him out of the recliner, but my foot caught the handle of my bag. I squealed as I tumbled forward and smacked the floor.

Ray huffed. “Jesus Christ.”

I scrambled up, wiggled my foot free from the fabric strap, and hurried over.

Ray sat up and I pulled his wheelchair over.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he snapped as I reached for him. The anger in his voice was palpable.

I jolted back.

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